


Prelude to a Fall

by theworstwolves



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (but mostly just hurt), (but not), Angst, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kent centric, M/M, Minor Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Unrequited Love, reference to jack's OD, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworstwolves/pseuds/theworstwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Jack is being wheeled away from him on a stretcher and every time Kent blinks he can see him, younger with longer hair and eyes that won’t focus and keep slipping closed and Kent suddenly feels as terrified as he had all those years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to a Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm about a third of the way into a big pimbits fic but apparently I wrote this tonight instead. It kind of feels like half a story, or a prequel to something that might not ever exist. I don't like the title, I literally just wrote then posted but whatever, enjoy.

Kent’s on the other side of the ice when it happens, his eyes flicking to the clock as the seconds tick by and bring the Aces closer to the playoffs with each second.

He sees Jack go down out of the corner of his vision and a first he doesn’t think that much of it. It’s only a quick glance – there’s less than a minute left of play, he trusts his D-men enough to take his eyes off the puck for a few moments –  but he sees that Jack’s already moving to push himself up, carry on, and attempt to get that equalising goal (if anyone can do it, it’s Jack) and, however much Kent wishes it was, it’s really none of his concern. Jack’s play being hindered is actually in Kent’s best interests right now, besides, he learnt a long time ago that anxiety over watching Jack get checked tends to screw up his game when Jack’s on the opposing team.

They’re playing defensively, no use in getting flashy when they’re so close to victory, and Kent’s momentarily distracted by a flurry of movement to his left, members of the Falconers whose names he can’t remember making one last attempt at the goal. When he looks back to Jack, however, he realises that he’s still down, that he has stopped in his movements, body rigid as he holds himself a few inches above the ice on shaking arms.

That’s when Kent notices his leg, or more accurately notices the way that his leg is bent under him, unmistakably wrong even under all the padding.

He’s skating over to Jack even before the end of the game is signalled, when he should really still be playing, focusing on the guys on his team. He barely registers when the buzzers goes, signalling that they have indeed made it to the playoffs but that’s really not all that important to him right now.

Jack is what’s important to him right now, because however hard he tries to pretend he isn’t ,Jack has always been the most important aspect of his life, be it though is presence or his absence and Kent’s not going to deny that he’s predictable as fuck.

He gets to him before any of Jack’s team mates, or the medics and watches as Jack lowers himself back onto the ice.  Jack’s face is mostly concealed by his helmet and Kent can’t really read his expression but then that’s nothing new, and making eye contact is far better than looking down at his leg. Kent slides onto his knees in front of him. Not caring that they’re on opposing sides or that the rest of his team is celebrating their victory across the ice. He holds out a hand and for a moment he thinks that he’s being ridiculous but then Jack takes it, squeezing his fingers tight through his gloves.

“It really fucking hurts Kenny.”

 It’s the first thing Jack has said to him in months. They talk now, occasionally, and text quite often but they’re not where they were, they never will be. Hearing his voice though, even when it’s tinged with pain like it is now, will always make something in Kent leap.

Despite the pain, Jack’s voice is surprisingly even, but then he’s always been far better than Kent at concealing his emotions. Kent’s pretty sure at this point he’d be screaming, or vomiting, or both, but Jack just holds his hand tight and keeps eye contact.

It’s heartbreakingly familiar.

“You’re gunna be okay Zimms.” Kent tells him, holding his gaze. “I’m gunna take your helmet off okay, keep looking at me yeah?”

It seems like a sensible thing to do, give Jack more room to breathe, less weight to hold, to let Kent see his face.

Not that Kent actually thinks that Jack’s going to have a panic attack. From what he remember the build up to them involved shaking hands and hot tears threatening to spill. Right now Jack is still and cold and Kent wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him but they’re still on the ice, the cameras are still on and they’re not really friends anymore.

They’re not really anything.

Still, he sets Jack’s helmet down on the ice next to him, awkward with one hand, “how are you doing?”

Jack just looks at him, like it’s a stupid fucking question, which it obviously is but he’d like an answer. He’d like to know that Jack’s still present and with him and not spiralling off into himself which, in fairness would be a totally reasonable thing for him to be doing right now.

“Pretty shit.” Jack tells him, but he laughs as he does and it doesn’t sound hysterical or sardonic.

It sounds like how he used to laugh.

They’re surrounded by people pretty quickly. Jack’s teammates come up to them but hang back, delegating to Kent, maybe, or maybe just unsure of what they should be doing right now. He wonders if Jacks’ told them anything about him, about them, or if they’ve just picked up scraps from the media and made assumptions like everybody else.

And then the medics are there, and Kent has to move back and let go of Jack’s hand as they lift him up onto a stretcher and off the ice.

He follows him though. He doesn’t think anything in the world could stop him, even though he’s still in full gear and it’s going to fuck up his skates if he’s in them too long.

One of the medic’s falls back in line with him, looks him over and then asks “are you family?” which is a fucking stupid question and she probably knows it but whatever, she has a job to do.

His answer – “I’m the captain of the Las Vegas Aces” – is just as ridiculous as the question and he knows that it’s not going to fly, that he’s going to get sent away so people who know what they’re doing can make sure Jack’s okay and he’ll have to make his way back to the locker rooms and try and ignore the crushing feeling that’s been building in his chest since he dropped Jack’s hand.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

This is hockey, people get hurt all the time, it looks like a bad break but it’s not the end of the world.

But Jack is being wheeled away from him on a stretcher and every time Kent blinks he can see him, younger with longer hair and eyes that won’t focus and keep slipping closed and Kent suddenly feels as terrified as he had all those years ago.

“Kenny…” Jack says as he falls behind and then, to one of the medics, “he’s coming with me.”

And then he’s sitting in the back of an ambulance, holding Jack’s hand, both of their gloves discarded somewhere, letting Jack grip until he feels his fingers might break and feeling like he’s a teenager all over again.

There’s a mask over Jack’s face and they’ve braced his leg. Someone’s working an IV into his arm and telling him that they won’t be able to tell how bad the damage is until they’ve x-rayed but they aim to get him into theatre as soon as possible. Kent shed his gear as they made their way through the stadium, kicking off his skates once he’d finally sat down, and, sitting in just his socks with all his padding gone he feels very small.

He can’t stop looking at Jack.

It’s been the longest of times since they’ve been along together. Not that they’re alone, there’s medics fussing around them but Jack’s holding his hand and keeping his gaze and Kent think that perhaps he can pretend, for just a little while.

It’s actually pretty easy, because  Jack isn’t stiff anymore, the tension in his face is slowing vanishing which is mostly probably due to the shit ton of morphine they’re pumping into him but which Kent allows himself to claim a little credit for.

“Thanks for being here with me.” Jack tells him, as if he’s managed to somehow read Kent’s thoughts. He thinks that Jack looks like he feels very small too, that this is shit for both of them but at least they’re here together and maybe that’s what life will be like for them. Together at the worst of times because they’re the only ones that can cope with it.

“You’re only here because one of my guys broke your leg.” Kent points out and Jack just smiles a little lopsided smile and runs his fingers over the back of Kent’s knuckles.

It’s the morphine.

It has to be.

Things are hectic when they reach the hospital. Jack’s wheeled away for x-rays and Kent’s pointed to a waiting room and then left, standing in the foyer in his socks and trying to pretend like he doesn’t want to cry.

He’s failing pretty badly at it but then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder and a warmer voice speaking to him. “They said you’d ridden in the ambulance with him.” Bob tells him and Kent realises suddenly that it’s a very hard thing to justify. The press will think it’s quirky, or a show of sportsman like solidarity, some people will point back to his and Jack’s shared past but Bob, Bob knows and there’s nothing Kent can do or say that will suggest he feels any different than he did eight years ago, the last time he was in a hospital with the Zimmermann’s, Jack separated from him by hospital corridors as he felt sick with waiting.

“Yeah, I did.” He tells him, and Bob gives him a small sympathetic smile.

“He needs friends like you Kent” and the emphasis on the word _friends_ stings.

It stings more when Eric Bittle turns up,  and hour later, when Jack’s in surgery, worried and flushed and running his mouth about how he’d been busy that evening, and had the game recording to watch later and he’d only checked twitter for a moment but his news feed was blowing up and then the trains we’re delayed and…

Kent tunes him out, ignores how Bob and Alicia both hug him close reassure him that Jack’s okay, that it’s actually a clean break, that Jack will be easily back on the ice before the next seasons starts and that no, it won’t be easy but because Eric’s by his side they’ve got nothing to worry about.

Kent drinks his vending machine coffee and looks down at his socks.

Eric sends him icy looks every now and then and Kent thinks that he really ought to leave.

But if he left now he wouldn’t get to see Jack and Kent’s a sucker for punishment when Jack Zimmermann is involved.

Jack’s in surgery for almost two hours and when the nurse comes in and tells them he’s awake, and asking for visitors Kent has to cement his feet on the ground and grip the edge of his chair. He has to watch as Eric goes in with Bob and Alicia. Has to sit, for what feels like an age, and worry that once again the Zimmermann’s are going to come out of Jack’s hospital room and shake their heads at him pityingly tell him that Jack doesn’t want to see him and Kent will have to go back to his hotel room and sit on his bed an experience that emptiness in his chest all over again.

He supposes it’s better this time though, because this time he knows that Jack is okay. Knows that when he gets discharged he’ll be going home to his apartment with his boyfriend and he’ll be safe and happy and loved.

Kent won’t have anything to do with that, but after all this time he needs to start learning how to be okay with that.

Alicia and Bob come out just as Kent’s thinking about leaving. “He’s asking after you.” Bob tells him and Kent’s stomach flips even though he knows it shouldn’t.

Eric’s sat on the edge of Jack’s bed when Kent enters the room and he pursues his lips before he forces a smile and gestures to the seat by the bed, southern hospitality winning out even though Kent knows that he might very well be Eric’s least favourite person and that Eric thinks he has no place here.

He’s probably right.

Jack’s propped up against his pillows, his hair falling flat against his forehead and he still looks a bit dopey from the anaesthetic. “Kenny,” he says, and his face splits into a wide smile, “you stayed.”

Eric stiffens at the end of the bed and Kent decides to try  and forget that he’s there, to be selfish for a little while, “of course I stayed.”

They watch each other for a while and then Jack drops his gaze and starts worrying the sheets between his fingers. Kent’s sad to see that smile go.

“I’m sorry Kenny,” he says after a while, “that can’t have been fun for you.”

Kent doesn’t know what to say.

They don’t talk about this, they never have. Jack stopped talking to him and when he started again they both silently decided that bringing up the past would do nothing good for either of them. Kent’s never told Jack what it was like for him, he’s never told him that he’s not really over it. That he’s not really over him.

He supposes that there’s a chance he could be deliberately obtuse now, delay the conversation even longer, agree that yeah, it sucks that he missed his teams celebrations but he finds that he doesn’t want to.

“It was pretty fun compared to the last time I sat in the back of an ambulance with you.” He says instead, voice low and quiet, “don’t apologize, I was glad to be there with you.”

Jack’s looks back back at him and there’s something in his gaze that makes Kent’s heart stutter and then feel like its beating double time, because, he thinks, this is the way Jack used to look at him.

This is the way Jack looks at Eric now.

This is a look Kent thought he’d never get again.

And Eric’s seen it too, of course he has, and Kent knows that he can’t be here anymore. He needs to leave now before he gets his heart broken again, or worse, before he breaks someone else’s.

“I have to go now Zimms.”

He can’t resist using the name, acknowledging the enormity of what’s just happened in the smallest of ways, even if he’ll never be able to again.

He leaves without looking back.

He stays outside the room though, waiting in the potentiality of the moment, thinking if he wasn’t trying to be a better person he’d go back in there and… and then what?

He doesn’t though, of course he doesn’t. But then he doesn’t have time to  because Eric’s stepping out of the room, making sure the door is shut behind him before turning to face Kent.

“They want to keep him over night but he can go home tomorrow. I’m doing dinner for Alicia and Bob before they fly back. You should join us.”

There’s no warmth in his tone and it’s the least inviting invitation Kent has ever received.

Kent has no idea why he’s even being asked because he knows that Eric saw what he saw in Jack’s look and that Eric must hate him for it.

“Why?” He asks, because he can’t think of anything worse, and he’s sure Eric can’t either.

“Because I think Jack will want you there. And I think my life will be a lot easier if I try not to hate you.”

Kent doesn’t know what to say to that so he just nods. He’ll text Jack to cancel tomorrow but right now he just needs to get out of here. Needs to stop standing in hospital corridors in his socks, needs to stop thinking about what he could have if things were different, needs to get away from Jack and Eric and focus on keeping his life together, not tearing anyone else’s apart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr: [lesbianzimmermann](http://lesbianzimmermann.tumblr.com//)


End file.
